


But Love in Vain

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Relationship Defining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:00:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan and Grantaire have been seeing each other in an attempt to deal with their unrequited feelings. Les Amis find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Love in Vain

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in four parts on Tumblr (the first three were for Jehan/Grantaire Capital R Romantics week, but then my computer broke and I lost the fourth part. Sad-face). I decided it worked better as a long one-shot.
> 
> Lots of unrequited love/lust from various corners here. Warning for brief mentions of drug use in here.
> 
> Title is from an Abraham Cowley poem:
> 
> “A mighty pain to love it is,  
> And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;  
> But of all pains, the greatest pain  
> It is to love, but love in vain.” 
> 
> Usual disclaimer: the only thing I own are my typos (but if you'd like them, you can have them, free to a good home!)

The heat in the back room of the Musain was stifling. The air conditioning had broken and it was one of the hottest days of the year, so hot that Courfeyrac and Bahorel had willingly stripped their shirts off (to be fair, it didn’t take much for them to want to take off their clothes), and even Enjolras had unbuttoned his shirt to halfway down his sternum.

Ordinarily, the sight of that much of Enjolras’s skin would have caused Grantaire to stare, blush when caught staring, and continue to stare when he thought no one was looking, but today, Grantaire barely seemed to pay Enjolras any attention at all, absorbed in his sketchbook.

Bahorel, who was sitting next to Jehan, nudged him with his elbow. “Dude, you’ve got to be  _roasting_ ,” he said, looking with a raised eyebrow at Jehan’s cardigan, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the paisley scarf around his neck.

“Not really,” said Jehan nonchalantly, though the back of his neck flushed a deep red.

Rolling his eyes, Bahorel told him, “Look, I know it will probably throw off the color-scheme of your outfit or something, but at least take off your scarf, man,” and before Jehan could stop him, he had tugged the scarf most of the way off, revealing the purple-red hickies underneath that Jehan had been clearly trying to hide.

Bahorel let out a low whistle and exchanged a look with Feuilly, who sniggered and threw Courfeyrac a look. “You  _dog_ ,” he muttered, grinning, but Courfeyrac just looked affronted.

“What?” he asked, confused, before catching sight of Jehan’s neck, his own eyebrows raising. “Oh, wow.  _Someone_  has an appetite, but it’s not me – for once.”

Fully scarlet now, Jehan grabbed his scarf back from Bahorel and threw it back around his neck. “If we’re all finished staring at my neck now,” he said, something haughty (but also immensely self-satisfied) in his voice.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Yes, I agree—” he started, but Bahorel cut him off.

“Hang on just a second. If Courf isn’t the one gnawing at your throat, then who is?”

Jehan looked defiant. “I  _do_  have other friends besides you guys,” he said with feigned nonchalance. “And it’s really none of any of your business.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Enjolras loudly trying to get the meeting back on track. “As I was saying—”

This time it was Combeferre who cut him off, and once Combeferre intervened, Enjolras groaned loudly, surrendering the meeting as lost. “I know it’s none of our business,” Combeferre said carefully, “and you may have other friends besides us, but not that you see on a regular basis, and forgive us for being curious, but you haven’t been dating anyone since…”

The words “ _since you fell in love with Courfeyrac_ ” lingered in the air, unsaid, and a muscle worked in Jehan’s jaw. “That doesn’t change the fact that it’s none of your business.”

“C’mon, Jehan,” Bossuet burst, ignoring the look Joly gave him. “It’s  _us_. We tell each other everything!”

Jehan crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Not this time.”

Grantaire straightened from where he had been slumped, his face curiously blank. “Jehan—” he started, in a soft voice, but was ignored by the rest of the group.

“The only reason you wouldn’t tell us is if it was one of us,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “Which means your options are rather limited.”

“You would know,” Jehan muttered under his breath, looking mutinous.

Courfeyrac ignored him – no surprises there – continuing, “If it’s one of us, pretty much your only options are—”

“It’s me!” Grantaire burst, standing up from his seat and holding his arms open, exposing himself to their judgment. “It’s me. Jehan and I…we’re…we’re fucking, alright? Is that what you want to hear? Fine. We’re fucking. The marks are from me. We didn’t want to talk about it because there’s nothing to talk about. Ok?”

He glared around the room for a moment before grabbing his stuff and leaving. Jehan stared after him for a brief moment, emotions flashing across his face before settling on a mix of anger and sadness. “Are you happy?” he asked quietly. “Is this what you wanted? To know Grantaire and I are sleeping together?”

“Grantaire?” Enjolras repeated, sounding equal parts incredulous and shocked as he looked at Jehan.

The look Jehan sent him was scathing. “Yeah. Grantaire. And believe it or not, he’s been pretty incredible. So you guys can say what you will, but he and I…we’re happy. And I…” He trailed off, an odd look passing across his face. “I want to do with him what spring does with the cherry trees.”

With that said, he left, leaving Enjolras and the rest of Les Amis staring after him. “What…what was that?” Enjolras asked eventually, staring at the door.

Combeferre coughed slightly. “Uh, I think it was a variation on Pablo Neruda.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Not  _that_.” His gaze shifted, falling on Grantaire’s abandoned chair. “ _That_.”

“ _That_  is none of our business,” said Combeferre firmly, clapping Enjolras on the shoulder. “Let’s call it a day everyone.”

The rest of Les Amis dispersed, but Enjolras remained glued to his spot, still staring at Grantaire’s chair. Combeferre cleared his throat and said gently, “It’s none of our business, Enj.”

The look Enjolras gave him was confused, wounded, and sad all in one go. “It’s  _Grantaire_ ,” he said softly, and Combeferre’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

There were a million things he wanted to say to Enjolras, the least of which being the fact that Enjolras had ignored or flat-out (if only seemingly) hated Grantaire for the past two years, had had every opportunity to make something happen with him, had chosen not to do so, had given up any tenuous claim he might have had on Grantaire. Instead, he merely shook his head and repeated softly, “Not our business.”

But Enjolras’s face had taken on a determined set, his eyes turning brooding – plotting  _something_. Maybe it wasn’t his business. But it would be.

* * *

 

Combeferre slid into the seat from Jehan at the café the next morning, setting a coffee down in front of him. “Triple-shot, extra large hazelnut latte,” he told him, smiling at the poet, who didn’t look up from the notebook in which he was scribbling.

"What do you want, Combeferre?" Jehan’s voice sounded tired more than angry, and Combeferre settled back in his seat, looking at him appraisingly over the edge of his own coffee cup.

"I just want to talk." Combeferre took a sip of his coffee before saying quietly, "I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look tired, Jehan."

Jehan close his notebook with a snap, his shoulders tensing. “Well, since I spent most of my night going from bar to bar trying to find Grantaire, I would think it’s a little understandable that I look a bit rough around the edges.” He ran a hand across his face and took a swig of his coffee and grudgingly told Combeferre, “Thanks.”

Combeferre inclined his head slightly. “You’re welcome.”

Silence stretched between them as both sipped their coffee, as Combeferre tried to decide how to say what he wanted. Jehan rolled his eyes and set his coffee back on the table. “If you have something to say, Ferre, spit it out, by all means.”

Carefully setting his own coffee down, Combeferre frowned at him. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Jehan laughed wryly. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

"I’m sorry about last night, for the position it put you - and Grantaire - in," Combeferre told him, voice mild. "I can only speak for myself, but I think if any of us had known what was going on, we wouldn’t have…"

He trailed off, but Jehan nodded stiffly. “Right. You would have left it alone. No questions asked, no whispers behind our backs, no accosting me in a café over whether or not I really care about him. Because I believe that.”

The sarcastic tone in his voice took Combeferre aback, and he frowned and said defensively, “I’m hardly  _accosting_  you.”

Jehan snorted. “Sure.”

Biting his lip, Combeferre at least had the good grace to look shamefaced. “Well,” he said hesitantly, “since you brought it up…do you care about him, truly? And he, you?”

"Are you asking because you actually care to know the answer, or are you asking because of Enjolras?" Jehan’s voice was mild, without accusation, but Combeferre’s ears still went a little red.

He looked down for a brief moment before asking lightly, “Can’t it be a little bit of both?” Jehan didn’t answer, just frowned down into his coffee, but Combeferre took this as a sign that he could continue. “I just…Are you sure this is wise, Jehan? You and Grantaire? I mean…we know how both of you can get. You bring out the best in each other, sometimes, but other times, you seem to bring out the darkness in each other.”

Jehan’s expression darkened. “We don’t bring out the darkness in each other,” he said, his voice low. “The darkness is always there. And Grantaire is the only one who understands that, so that when the  _world_  brings out the darkness, he’s someone I can turn to, someone I’ve always been able to turn to.”

“He’s hardly reliable,” said Combeferre, sounding frustrated. “Or do you not recall that time a year or so ago when you two thought it would be a good idea to try heroin?” He didn’t wait for Jehan’s response before adding, “But I forget, it wasn’t the first time for Grantaire, was it?”

“You don’t understand,” Jehan insisted, voice heated. “There is…there is a lot of shit in this world, and Grantaire and I…we see it more than any of you. None of you know what it’s like, not really. And some days…some days the darkness consumes Grantaire, just like some days the darkness fascinates me. And we’ve both gone over the edge. But since this…whatever  _this_  is…has started, we’ve barely flirted with the edge of the darkness.”

Combeferre leaned forward, his frown deepening. “That’s just what I mean. Putting both of you together…I mean, my god, Jehan, you spent most of your night trying to find Grantaire before he assumedly drank himself to death. How healthy can that relationship be?”

Jehan’s glare froze him in his tracks. “He is, first and foremost, my best friend. And if you want to talk about unhealthy relationships with best friends, I think you’re being rather hypocritical. After all, how many years have you been in love with Enjolras?”

Gaping at him, it took almost a full minutes for Combeferre to stutter, “I…I’m not…” but Jehan just waved a dismissive hand.

“Spare me. I’m not an idiot. If you want to lie to yourself, that’s your problem. I don’t particularly give a fuck. But it hardly puts you in the best of positions to be lecturing me on this subject.”

When Combeferre spoke next, his voice was quiet. “I’m not trying to lecture you. I just…I want to make sure you’ve thought this through.”

"What do you want me to say, Ferre?" Jehan exploded, slamming his hand down on the table. "That one night we were both high and drunk and decided to fuck? That the next night we decided to do it again - while sober? That we’ve been best friends for so long that it just feels like the most natural thing in the world? That when I’m with him, I can forget about Courf, forget about  _everything_ , because when I’m with him, nothing else in the world matters? Is that what you want me to say?”

Combeferre just stared at him, and Jehan’s voice softened. “But of course you don’t care about that,” he said, resignedly. “You don’t care about me, or about Grantaire. You only care about what this means for Enjolras and Grantaire, and what, by extension, that means for Enjolras and you.”

Though Combeferre wanted to argue, wanted to protest at that harsh assessment, he settled for taking a deep breath and saying softly, “Contrary to what you seem to think, I  _do_  care about you, Jehan, and yes, Grantaire as well. You are both my friends, and I really just want you to be happy.”

Jehan’s eyes met his squarely. “If you want us to be happy, you’ll tell Enjolras when you go give your report to him that Grantaire  _is_  happy. Without him.”

Snorting slightly, Combeferre gathered his things. “If you think my word alone is enough for Enjolras, think again.” His voice sounded just a little sad and he turned to leave. Then he stopped and looked back at Jehan, a guilty look flashing across his face. “Oh. Um. Did you ever find Grantaire?”

Jehan didn’t look up. “Yeah. Around 3. He was pretty much passed out in an alley. But he wasn’t hurt, and he hasn’t puked, so there’s that at least.”

Combeferre nodded. “Right. Well…see you later, Jehan.” And then he left, head spinning with everything they had just discussed, and especially with the question of what the hell he was supposed to say to Enjolras.

* * *

 

Of course, it didn’t matter what Combeferre said to Enjolras, because he always would seek verification before accepting anything at face-value. Which was why he knocked on Jehan’s apartment door that afternoon. Jehan didn’t even bother trying to look surprised when he opened the door to find Enjolras there. “What?” he asked, curtly.

“I wanted to talk,” said Enjolras, raising an eyebrow. “Can I come in?”

Jehan closed the door firmly behind him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You can say what you want to say, but you’ll say it out here.”

Blinking in surprise, Enjolras opened his mouth to say something, then paused, seeming to think better of it. Instead, he looked down at the ground and swallowed. “I…I’m not sure how to say what I want to.”

“The great Enjolras, rendered speechless?” Jehan asked, raising his own eyebrow. “Color me  _shocked_.”

Enjolras colored, his eyes flashing up to Jehan’s. “It’s about Grantaire,” he said softly.

Jehan’s lips twisted. “No shit Sherlock.”

Enjolras just stared at him, face turning impassive. “I expect this kind of attitude from Grantaire,” he said mildly, “but never from you. Then again, I guess you have been hanging out with him a lot lately.”

“That I have,” responded Jehan, coolly, but something in his voice turning contemplative. “Would you like me to tell you about it?”

Biting his lip, Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t need to know details. I just want to know…How serious are you two? Are you…are you exclusive?”

Jehan snorted. “You want to know what your chances are of ‘stealing’ him away from me.”

Enjolras’s face flushed scarlet. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Save it,” Jehan snapped, sounding wearier than ever. “ _Everyone_  knows how Grantaire feels for you. And you’ve been nothing more than a complete dick to him, which either means you actually hate him or you have feelings for him, too.” He paused, a half-grin crossing his face. “Given the way your eyes lit up when I used the present-tense for what he ‘feels’ for you, I’d say it’s the latter.”

There were a million things that Enjolras wanted to say, a million questions he wanted to ask, but instead he swallowed hard and looking down at the ground. “What about you and Courf?” he asked finally.

"What  _about_  me and Courf?” Jehan asked.

Enjolras gestured dismissively. “I thought you were…well, I thought you were in lo—thought you felt the same way about him that Grantaire feels about me.”

Jehan crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No one feels about anyone the way Grantaire feels about you. Trust me on that one. And maybe I was in love with Courf. Maybe I wasn’t. But Courfeyrac had his chance, and he passed. Besides, this isn’t about me and Courf.”

Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest as well, mirroring Jehan’s stance. “No, you’re right. This isn’t about you and Courf. This is about me and Grantaire.”

"No," said Jehan, something in his voice tightening, "this is about  _me_  and Grantaire, since last time I checked, there was no you and Grantaire.”

“Fine,” Enjolras snapped. “You’re fine with being with a man who may be in love with someone else? You’re comfortable with that?”

Jehan glared at him. “I’m comfortable with  _Grantaire_ , comfortable in how I feel about him. I’m not confused or misguided here, Enj. I knew what I was getting myself into when this began, knew the risks I was taking.”

Enjolras met his eyes squarely. “Did Grantaire?”

Throwing his hands up in the air exasperatedly, Jehan snapped, “Just because I’m best friends with Grantaire and sleeping with him doesn’t mean I know every single thought that has crossed through his mind. Why in the hell aren’t you asking  _him_  about this?”

Enjolras stopped and blinked at him. “I…you’d let him talk to me about this?”

Jehan crossed his arms in front of his chest and sighed deeply. “Grantaire’s a grown man who makes his own decisions. I don’t  _let_  him do anything. If he wants to talk to you about this, that’s his prerogative.”

Nodding, just once, Enjolras said stiffly, “Fine. I’ll go talk to Grantaire, then. And Jehan…” He trailed off. “Thank you. For talking to me. I don’t…I don’t want things to be awkward between us now. You are, after all, still my friend.”

“Of course,” said Jehan, turning back towards his apartment as Enjolras turned to leave. “So just tell me this one thing, Enjolras.” Jehan turned to face him, his expression curiously blank. “Do you actually want Grantaire? Have you ever actually wanted Grantaire? Or is it just the fact that now you can’t have him?” Enjolras gaped at him, open-mouthed, completely unsure of how to even begin answering that question (both to Jehan, and to himself). Jehan’s lip curled. “That’s what I thought.”

* * *

 

Whereas Enjolras had gone over to Jehan’s to talk to him, when it came to Grantaire, it seemed a better idea to meet on neutral ground. So he met him at the café that evening. He looked up when Grantaire sat across from him, eyes narrowing when he took in Grantaire’s state. “Hey,” he said, quietly. “You look…”

There was no polite way to phrase what he had been about to say, and Grantaire snorted, his own smile turning brittle. “Yeah, I know, I look a little rough,” he said, running a hand over his face. “I had a bit of a rough night last night, as should surprise approximately no one.”

“Are you ok?” Enjolras asked, his voice still quiet.

Grantaire’s eyes locked on him. “Don’t do this, Enj,” he sighed, looking even wearier than he was before. “We’re not here so that you can ask me all about how I’m doing or some shit like that. We’ve  _never_  been like that with each other, and now doesn’t exactly seem like the time to start.”

Something close to hurt flashed on Enjolras’s face and he looked down. “We could be like that,” he said, sullenness creeping in to his voice. “I really…I value you, Grantaire, as a friend at the very least. And I know I’ve not always been the best at showing you that—” Grantaire snorted derisively, but Enjolras barreled on “—but I want to try and be better. To try and treat you more the way you deserve to be treated. Because I…I…”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” said Grantaire, though his voice was gentle. “You and I are friends, sure, in our own way. But we’re the kind of friends who fight and argue constantly because it’s what we’re  _good_  at. I have enough friends to sit across from me and try and have the ‘how are you doing today, R?’ conversation with me who aren’t nearly as awkward about it. So don’t…don’t try and change this, and make it something it’s not.”

Enjolras had gone very still. “I suppose Jehan is one who can get away with asking you how you are?” he asked, trying not to sound bitter.

Grantaire chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Hell no. Jehan knows me well enough that he doesn’t  _need_  to ask how I’m doing. That’s what best friends are for.”

Now Enjolras met his gaze squarely. “And that’s all you are?” he asked, not even trying to sound casual about it. “Best friends?”

Leaning forward, Grantaire sighed and propped his chin on his hands. “‘Best friends’ is a hideously inadequate idea, don’t you think? If Prouvaire were here, he’d probably come up with something far more poetic. Two souls sharing the same body, maybe. Platonic soulmates. Something of that ilk.”

“Platonic?” Enjolras asked, sounding slightly more excited than he probably should.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you just say what you came here to say, Enj? This whole beating around the bush shit isn’t you. And it’s boring.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “I’m here because I want to talk,” he said, trying to squash the irritated edge to his voice.

“Then by all means, Apollo, talk,” said Grantaire easily, sitting back in his chair.

“Damnit, Grantaire, I’m trying!” Enjolras burst, clenching his jaw in frustration. “You are  _not_  making this easy for me!”

Grantaire laughed, a true, honest, easy laugh, the kind that made his nose crinkle and his mouth get really wide, the kind that somehow took Enjolras’s breath away for a brief moment. “That is my lot in life,” he chuckled. “I am  _never_  going to make things easy for you, and if you were to stop and think about what you’re doing here, I don’t think you would want me to.”

Enjolras frowned but did not answer, his gaze turning introspective as he thought about what Grantaire had said. Grantaire let him think for a few minutes, then spoke again, his voice quiet. “Let’s cut the shit and cut to the chase. Jehan told me what you talked about. You have it in your head that you have feelings for me of some variety. I don’t know if you somehow think that you’re going to sweep me off my feet like a fairytale romance, but I can definitely tell you  _that’s_  not going to happen.”

Though at first Enjolras’s brow furrowed, a small smile soon tugged at his lips and he ducked his head to hide his smile. “Yeah, we’re not exactly anyone’s dictionary definition of fairytale romance, are we?”

“Technically, we’re not  _any_  definition of romance,” Grantaire pointed out, but his tone was gentle.

Enjolras met his gaze. “We could be,” he said quietly. “If you wanted.”

For just a moment, Grantaire looked hesitant, but then he shook his head. “No. I’m…I know it might be hard for you to believe, but I’m happy with Jehan.”

“But you…you do have feelings for me, right?” asked Enjolras, for the first time beginning to doubt what everyone had insisted was the truth.

Grantaire looked down. “I did…I still do. But that alone isn’t enough to make me want to leave what Jehan and I have, not when we’re happy. Which we are.”

Enjolras frowned, clearly not understanding fully. “But you have feelings for me, and Jehan has feelings for Courf. How can you stand knowing that? That you’re…you’re someone’s second choice? And what happens if Jehan decides he would rather be with Courf, or you…”

Though Enjolras trailed off, Grantaire knew where he had been going, and just shrugged. “It was the risk we took when we started this. I knew if Courf ever came calling, Jehan would be gone. And if you truly, truly came for me…”

“What do you think I’m doing here now?” Enjolras asked, his voice low.

Grantaire looked at him carefully, his eyes feeling more like an examination than anything. “Truthfully, I don’t know what you’re doing here,” he said honestly. “Mainly because I don’t think  _you_  know what you’re doing here. Not really.”

Enjolras looked taken aback. “Of course I know what I’m doing here. I’m here because I…I have feelings for you.”

"Ok," said Grantaire, nodding. "Let’s say that that’s true, and that you really, truly have feelings for me. Let’s say that I reciprocate fully and say, ‘let’s go for it.’ Then what?"

Now Enjolras just looked lost, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he tried to figure out what exactly to say. Then he half-smiled and said honestly, “I have no fucking idea.”

"And that, dear Apollo, is precisely my point." Grantaire leaned back in his chair slightly, looking at Enjolras appraisingly. "Give yourself time to figure out how you feel," he commanded, his voice soft. "Figure out if it’s just the shock of me dating someone, or if you actually have feelings for me. And then figure out what exactly you would want from a relationship with me. And once you have that figured out, maybe we can talk." He paused, something flickering between longing and indecision on his face before it settled on serenity. "But not right now. Not when what I have with Jehan is so good."

Enjolras nodded, though he still looked conflcted, and finally he burst, “I just…why Jehan? Is it just because you’re friends, or…”

Grantaire’s expression turned contemplative. “It’s hard to qualify it,” he said slowly. “With Jehan…it’s easy. It’s always  _been_  easy. And right now, what I need most is something that’s easy. No fighting, no stress, no constantly worrying that I’m not good enough and that you hate me. Just him and me together. It’s what I want right now. It’s what I  _need_  right now.”

Nodding once more, Enjrolras verified, hoping he didn’t sound nearly as desperate as he felt, “So you’re really turning me down?”

“Yes,” said Grantaire firmly. “For now. I have a good thing going with Jehan, and if you truly feel as strongly for me as you claim, you’ll respect that. You’ll be happy for me.”

Enjolras had gone very still. “I’ll respect that,” he confirmed, in a low voice, “but I’ll also watch, and wait, and hope that it doesn’t last between you two.”

“I would expect nothing less from you,” said Grantaire, smiling slightly. “You’re a man who is very,  _very_  used to getting what you want. You just need to make sure that what you really want is, well, me.”

He stood, and Enjolras stared up at him, lost for something to say. Finally, he offered his hand and asked tentatively, “Still friends?”

"Of course," said Grantaire instantly, taking his hand and running his thumb over Enjolras’s knuckles. "Maybe even better friends now than before."

"I’ll let you know when I’ve thought about it," Enjolras told him as he started to walk away.

Grantaire grinned at him over his shoulder. “I look forward to hearing from you, then,” he called, walking backwards, his eyes bright and mischievous. “I’m not going anywhere. I mean, except back to Jehan’s.”

Enjolras stared after him as he walked off and then buried his head in his hands for a moment. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

 

“Jehan?” Grantaire called, opening the door to Jehan’s apartment, having found it unlocked. He poked his head inside, but heard no sounds indicating Jehan was home. “Jehan?” He called the poet’s name again in hopes that he would be answered, and took a tentative step into the apartment.

He caught sight of Jehan lying facedown on the couch, and sighed heavily. “Jehan,” he murmured sadly, crossing to him, prying the empty bottle of vodka from Jehan’s hand and setting it down on the coffeetable. Grantaire crouched next to him, brushing a loose strand of hair from Jehan’s face. “Jehan,” he said, more firmly, shaking his shoulder.

Jehan just groaned and rolled over, throwing his arm over his eyes. Grantaire couldn’t help but let out a snort of unamused laughter because normally their positions were quite reversed, with Jehan the one trying to wake Grantaire from his drunken slumber (though those episodes had been few and far between of late). “C’mon, Prouvaire, wake up.”

He perched on the edge of the couch, heaving Jehan into a sitting position. Groaning again, Jehan half-heartedly swatted at him. “Go way,” he slurred.

“If you really want me to go, I will,” Grantaire said offhandedly, even as his hands kept Jehan upright.

Eyes fluttering open, Jehan blinked owlishly at him. “Grantaire?” he breathed. “You came back?”

Grantaire frowned at him. “Of course I came back,” he said patiently, though confusion colored his tone.

Jehan nodded, then blanched. “I’m gonna puke,” he announced and Grantaire swore and darted for the wastebasket, getting it to Jehan just in time.

Once Jehan had finished heaving up most of the contents of his stomach, Grantaire gathered him in his arms, groaning as he picked him up. “Fuck, Prouvaire, you weigh a ton.”

Jehan just put his arms around Grantaire’s neck and burrowed his head against Grantaire’s t-shirt. “You came back,” he whispered in a dazed sort of way.”

“Yes, I came back,” Grantaire said gently, depositing Jehan on his bed rearranging him in what he hoped was a comfortable sleeping position. “And we need to talk. But not right now, ok? Right now, you need to sleep off this little bender of yours.”

Reaching out and grabbing Grantaire’s wrist with a surprisingly strong grip, Jehan commanded, “Don’t go away. Stay with me.”

Grantaire bit his lip, hesitating. “Fine,” he sighed, tugging off his shoes and crawling up next to Jehan, who instantly rolled over and pillowed his head on Grantaire’s chest. “But only to make sure you don’t choke on your vomit in the middle of the night.”

“Fuck you,” Jehan murmured sleepily before he passed out to the sound of Grantaire’s quiet chuckle.

* * *

 

The sun seemed to stab through Jehan’s eyelids and he groaned, squinting them open when he felt Grantaire’s chest rumble with laughter underneath him. “Hey, beautiful,” Grantaire said softly, stroking his hair. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Probably like how you feel half the time,” Jehan said waspishly, making a face at the disgusting taste in his mouth.

Grantaire just chuckled, unperturbed by Jehan’s rather harsh - if undoubtedly true - statement. His smile faltered slightly as he continued to pet Jehan’s hair. “Speaking of, are we going to talk about your little episode yesterday?”

Now Jehan pulled away, managing to sit up without feeling like he was going to die. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled.

Frowning, Grantaire said quietly, “I mean coming home to find you passed out from drinking most of a bottle of vodka. And I know it’s hypocritical for me of all people to be worried by that, but that’s not like you. So what was that about?”

Jehan didn’t meet his eyes, twisting a lock of hair around his finger. “I didn’t think you were going to come back,” he said softly. “I mean, I really expected you to leave me.”

Grantaire was silent for a long moment, then commanded softly, “Jehan, look at me.” Jehan shook his head and Grantaire reached out, cupping his cheek. “Look at me.” Turning his head, Jehan looked at him, biting his lip. “Why in the world would you think that I would leave you?”

“Why  _wouldn’t_  you leave me?” Jehan asked, his voice as quiet as Grantaire’s. “This was everything you’ve ever wanted. Enjolras realizing that he…that he has feelings for you. You’ve been waiting for this for years.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression, but he continued stroking Jehan’s cheek gently with his thumb. “You’re right, it was everything I thought I always wanted,” he said in a low voice. “But it’s also a lot more complicated than just that. Especially since I don’t really think that Enjolras wants me. Not like that anyway.”

Jehan wrapped his hand around Grantaire’s wrist, though made no move to shove his hand away. “He seemed pretty certain when I talked to him.”

Snorting lightly, Grantaire shook his head. “He  _thinks_  he’s sure. But he’s not. I know him; he’s more unsure about this than anything.” Jehan didn’t say anything, though his grip on Grantaire’s wrist tightened. “Enjolras needs time. Time to figure this out for himself. Just like I need time.”

Jehan’s hand fell back to his side and he looked away. “What do you need time for?” he scoffed. “You’ll choose him. I’ve always known that you would.”

Now it was Grantaire’s hand that dropped to his side, but only for a moment before he reached out to take both of Jehan’s hands in his. “I need time,” he repeated in a low voice. “Time to decide if I want to give up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Jehan looked back at him, eyes wide and searching his, his tongue wetting his lips before he said in a choked voice, “You don’t mean that. You  _can’t_ mean that. You’re  _in love_  with Enjolras.”

“What does that even mean?” Grantaire asked, suddenly contemplative. “Because by any conventional definition, what you and I have, what  _this_  is, that’s a hell of a lot more like love than anything I’ve ever had with Enjolras.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Jehan shook his head, easing his hands away from Grantaire. “This isn’t love,” he said, his voice quiet, toneless. “This is…this is just two friends, sleeping together, having a good time. This is…this is easy. That’s all.”

“It  _is_  easy,” Grantaire agreed. “But that’s what makes me think that this is  _real_. I’ve never had to try with you; I’ve never had to pretend with you. This is the most natural thing that I have ever done, and if that’s not love—”

Jehan’s eyes flashed. “Love isn’t supposed to be easy!” he protested. “Love is supposed to be hard, it’s supposed to be work, it’s—”

Grantaire cut him off. “According to whom?” he challenged. “Who says that love is supposed to be like that? Shouldn’t the people who are experiencing it be able to decide that for themselves?”

“What are you saying, then?” Jehan shot back, voice just as challenging as Grantaire’s had been, but with an undercurrent of uncertainty. “Are you saying that you love me? Are you saying that you somehow feel the same way about me as you do Enjolras?”

“I’m saying—” Grantaire bit off the rest of his sentence, pausing to run a tired hand across his face. “I’m saying that I don’t know. And I’m saying that I need time to figure that out. And I’m saying that in the meantime, what I have with you is more important than any hypothetical.”

Jehan just sighed and started to turn away, but Grantaire reached out and caught his arm, reaching out to cup his cheek again. “I may love Enjolras,” he said honestly. “And I may not, because what I feel for Enjolras is a mass of convoluted emotion so tied up in a lot of shit in my life that it’s honestly hard to tell anymore.”

“And I may love you,” he continued, after a long moment. “I don’t know. What I do know is that right now, when I think of tomorrow or the next day or next week, all I want is to be by your side. And maybe one day that will change. Maybe Enjolras will decide he really does love me and I’ll decide I really do love him. Or maybe I’ll fall in love with a complete stranger. Or maybe you will. But for me, it’s not worth throwing what we have away for that chance. Because right now, I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Jehan looked at him then, really looked at him, indecision battling across his face before he leaned in and kissed Grantaire, grabbing the front of Grantaire’s shirt to pull him in. The kiss was hot and passionate from the beginning, full of tongues and teeth and everything that Grantaire and Jehan’s relationship had been filled with from the beginning.

The kiss didn’t solve anything. It didn’t answer the million of questions that Jehan still had, the million of things Grantaire needed to think about. It didn’t predict whether Grantaire would eventually leave Jehan if Enjolras truly wanted him.

It signaled that both were willing to take a chance with the other, consequences be damned.

And in that moment, as Grantaire groaned against Jehan’s lips and wove his fingers into Jehan’s hair, as Jehan shifted so that he was practically straddling Grantaire, as the kiss moved hot and fierce to something slower and gentler, it didn’t really matter that it didn’t solve anything, didn’t answer anything.

There were many kinds of love, and both Grantaire and Jehan knew in that moment that this could be one of them.

And for the moment, that was enough for both of them. 


End file.
